Jurassic Park: English Extinction
by oli101
Summary: Very early installments for the sequel to my first piece, Hunter or Hunted.
1. Before the Storm

Chapter 1

Grey and angry, the English Channel boiled in the storm. Thrown around in a haphazard manner, the ever so small fishing boat was sent ploughing through the churning broth, forward and backward, and sideways too. The fierce sky boomed again and again, as if announcing the end of the world. Bright blue flashes glared off the thick void that hung over the seascape. No land in sight, just miles of waves and froth.

Two figures stood on deck; both of them struggling with their utmost strength to keep from being dragged down into the depths by the cascading water as it came crashing upon the deck. Barely able to see for the sting of salty spray, the youngest of the trio, Jamie, who was barely into his twenties, made his way carefully down the narrow walkway, where only a thin rail kept him from tumbling to his doom. At the end of this perilous walk, he could see the other, an older and weathered man, fighting a battle with the net catch release. A terrible occurrence in such violent weather; for the yards of submerged net, laden with the catch of the day, had to be withdrawn back onto the boat at all costs; the only alternative being the complete loss of a day's work. No, it had had been done before. There was no need to have to endure such wastage.

Eventually the young lad joined his older brethren as the conflict between man and stubborn machine continued. Forward of the insignificant vessel, the captain in command of the tiny boat tried desperately to maintain a state of seaworthiness. With each surge of power bought on by the endless torrents of waves crashing against the hull, he lost more and more hope in his ability to keep the craft afloat. A seconds lapse of concentration and they would all be scattered into the sea.

Down by the winch, the two braved the frightful weather, as they pulled with all their might to haul the heavy netting back onboard. It was well and truly jammed; stuck fast, as if there were a great force pulling at the boat. Groans and creaks resonated off taut wires; the useless piece of machinery was obviously trying to drag the net back up, but the tremendous weight resisted the feeble effort exerted by the drum and pulley. The groans and creaks gradually turned to a high-pitched squeal.

Viciously battling with the polished wooden wheel that controlled the boat, the old captain tried to ease a safe passage through the overgrowing labyrinth of seawater as it erupted all around. The boat, with its great bag of fish attached to the stern, was hardly the most agile of vessels, and it swung dangerously from side to side, generating a fathomic flurry.

Jamie clung to the rearmost railings for dear life. He was new to this, and still had to acquire his sea legs. The more experienced man by his side simply braced his entire body and kept on struggling with the rebelling net. The roar of wind and rain bellowed at them both like a demented spirit.

"Its no use", yelled Jamie, his young voice almost carried away by the storm. The ferocious tempest above him was beginning to have its psychological effect. Terrified of the conditions, and seeing no sense in risking his life further, Jamie pleaded to the other man to give up, and to detach the bulk that was keeping them from being able to slice a relatively safe path through the angry sea.

"Let it go", but his shouts went unheard. Briefly coming out of deep concentration, his sea mate looked up at him through fatigued eyes. Rivulets of water dripped down the side of his face, from his coarse hair, to his scraggly beard. The man truly was a born fisherman, and a great contrast to the youthfulness of Jamie, with his freshly shaven face and neat blond hair. The older man shook his head. He went back to his struggle.

Standing, amazed at his fellow sea man's reluctance to give up, Jamie suddenly lost his footing as the boat made an almighty lurch. He fell backwards, and struck the back of his head against the railing, knocking him unconscious instantly. The captain, busy fighting a way forward, noticed nothing of what went on regarding the two members of his crew who had now entered a state of incredulous peril.

The still form of Jamie lay dangerously near to the side, and threatened to slide off into the churning waters at any moment. At seeing this, the man who had so long fought to retain the precious net and its hefty cargo, finally gave in, and activated the only remaining switch on the machinery console that still worked. He jettisoned it and it sank into a black deep.

It had been completely unexpected to the captain; all of a sudden, as if some gigantic hand had flung them all forwards, the boat rushed forth with such energy that he found himself sprawled on the floor. The same action had caused the man who had set out to help his knocked out crew member to fly forward as well. He clutched at the rails as he was almost brought overboard. And it was then that he saw it.

Below him, despite the gloom of the English waters, he could make out the movement of fish. Small silvery flickers, barely visible in the low light conditions, but evidently spooked by the presence of something else. And then, without further warning, a tremendous thump whacked into the hull from beneath the waves. Such force threw him up vertically, tearing his grasp, and he plummeted down again into the darkness of the sea. Never again did he see light. He just disappeared.

Suddenly, awoken by this event, Jamie, blood dripping from his wound, returned to a chaotic world, as something enormous and driven by a frightening amount of energy, struck the bow of the ship, behind him. When he turned, he was horrified to see that nothing remained. Where the forward cabin had once stood, there was just sea. All he could see was the ocean ahead of him. The sudden change in the boat's shape and mass was also beginning to take its toll, and the wreckage that he was all too aware he was riding, began to descend. No one left; he panicked, he couldn't make any sense of it. Everyone had gone, erased from existence by gigantic force which he couldn't even see. The icy embrace of the Channel's waters overcame him and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

The first thing he was aware of was that heavy roar that boomed out from a point above him; the thunderous noise having replaced actual thunder. As his sight returned, and he once again became aware, he could only see the suspended bulk hovering above him, blocking out the early morning sun whose radiant beams had finally managed to break through the thick infinity of the storm. He felt weak; so weak that he felt like slipping away. Euphoric happiness hugged him, and, as he felt like letting go, a shape, hanging on the end of a long line, gripped him, and he was pulled out of the ocean. The sudden change of environments woke him up more, and his gaze shifted to what he left below him. A horrific mess of debris floated below him; splintered wood, torn netting, oil, and most noticeably, blood and crudely cut chunks of human flesh. It was a sight that stirred the most reptilian part of his brain, and all of sudden, the winch that lifted him to safety couldn't be working fast enough.


	2. Heaven's Comforts

Chapter 2

It was perhaps the sweetest situation possible, and he got to enjoy it every morning. As the magnificent dawn sunlight cascaded into the immaculate bedroom, and as the early chorus of birdsong emanated from nearby, one particular aspect had David feel that everything was perfect; his wife, Joanna, tenderly snoozing beside him.

They had met under unusual circumstances, but not even the strange happenings that they had both been through together stopped there love from culminating into eternal bliss between the two. He admired everything about her; her courage, her skills, her beauty, and most importantly, the love they shared between them. For now though, he focused on her exquisite form. Beneath those sheets was perhaps the most gorgeous body he could imagine. Beneath those sheets he stirred, just from thinking of her elegant curves. Perhaps when she awakes, he thought with the horny eagerness of an adolescent.

Lying back, he closed his eyes, giving his body time to adapt to an alert state again. The problem was that the double-bed he was currently residing in was so comfortable he couldn't imagine himself ever leaving its sanctuary. David stretched, in a bid to encourage himself that getting up would be just as good as staying in bed. It didn't work. Perhaps he would just stay in after all. He'd see about that when his love awoke. Perhaps they'd both stay in bed. Salacious eagerness coursed through him.

Eventually, Joanna rose too, out of an idyllic dreamy world, and back into reality, which was still just as good to be honest. Her blond hair and heavenly blue eyes complimented her figure well. Through perfect lips she whispered.

"Morning honey," she said.

Without a verbal reply, David planted a deep kiss onto those lips. Both tingled in anticipation, and she replied with the correct signs showing her appreciation of the situation. Placing her hand on David's cheek, they both descended once more into a world of paradise.

It was to their great dismay that a hard knock came at the front door at that moment, penetrating the mood and replacing lustful intentions with a curiosity.

"Ignore it", said David, half pleading. Jo seemed to agree with him, as she continued to initiate the coupling; evidently intent on creating the perfect union.

More knocks alerted them that the visitor was still there, and waiting. Evidently, they weren't going to be able to enjoy each other just now. Sighing, David levered himself out of rapture, and after donning a dressing gown, went to see who it was. It would have to wait.

As soon as that door opened, everything was forgotten and replaced with a new forethought. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Before him stood a man he had never expected to see again. Weakly, his thoughts shouted at him from the back of his mind that seeing this man again indicated that something was definitely up. It had been programmed into him that if they were to ever meet again the situation would be just like the last, which was one of which he'd hoped never to experience again. He still had nightmares about it. And this was an ominous suggestion that soon he might have to live those nightmares once more.

"Boris!" he exclaimed, hardly being able to believe it. He didn't want to believe it, and seeing the tough Russian man in the state he was, evidently having roughed it for the past…however long he had been away…definitely didn't want to make him believe it.

"Please my friend", he gasped, "May I come in?" The quick-fire politeness was swiftly followed by the man stumbling forth and into the living room. A good guess he'd made as well. The way he moved, he could have fallen into any other part of the house, including the downstairs toilet, which would have been somewhat degrading. In fact, David almost reckoned on him sprawling across the floor. He rushed forward to help the man, who eventually managed to park himself on the sofa.

At this moment Jo came down, dressed in her own gown. She gasped on sight of the man. Had he not been a friend from the past, she would probably have been repelled at the fact that he was in her house and had certainly not seen a bar of soap or shower for a good fortnight. Almost instinctively, she went to make a cup of tea.

Coming back, and having used the ornamental china set given as a wedding present, she offered Boris a cup. Seizing it in trembling fingers, the dreadful looking man took it to his mouth and gulped it down despite the fact that it was scalding hot.

"Thank you", he blurted afterwards, "That's a thousand times better than rainwater."

"When did you last eat?" queried David, still shocked at the sudden arrival and appearance of his friend.

"Not for a week", Boris replied truthfully, "Haven't been able to. But that's not important; I must tell you both something that is terribly important. Please, listen now."

Both Jo and David knew what kind of important information was probably coming next, and neither liked it. Taking an opportunity, Jo disappeared to go and find some food in the kitchen. She thought it more important Boris eat first anyway. Returning with a Battenberg cake, she could see her husband wince at the thought of hearing anything that Boris would have to say. It would undoubtedly be something to do with a slaughtered expedition on a couple of islands thankfully thousands of miles away, and to do with prehistoric creatures that should be long dead, and, maybe, if it was truly as bad as they feared, to do with the elusive human monster, Sarah Remington, who managed to survive that last great fight on board the giant cargo ship that appeared so often in David's nightmares.

Ignoring the obvious discomfort with hearing any news that Boris might have in store for them, the Russian ploughed on and poured out to them what he knew.

"I hate to talk of this with you", he said, "Because I remember the terror of living it. We barely got through it, and it is understandable that you never wish to have to so much as think it again, but I have to tell you this."

David put his hand to his face, and covered his eyes as they squinted in frustration and anxiety. What now? What had happened?

"Recently, I have tracked the remaining entity of the biological warfare programmes to a final location. One Sarah Remington; I'm sure you remember her. She resides in an underground complex. It is merely eight miles away, entered by a cave along a quiet stretch of Dorset coast seldom visited."

Upon hearing this David suddenly looked up. It wasn't as bad as he thought after all. Boris, the crafty old guy had been spying and found her. If they knew where she was, and she wasn't aware they did, they could ambush her and end everything. She'd then pay.

"Brilliant", he beamed, suddenly alleviated, "Tell the army, the police, everyone. After what happened she'll be wanted by international law. All they have to do is go and march in on there and grab her."

"I'm afraid it's not as easy as that", this comment made David's heart sink again.

"Sarah does currently reside there", explained Boris, "I have seen her come and go, from when I have been observing the place for days on end. But she is not alone. She has her guards, and she has her pets. It is a big place, and a miracle that it was built without anyone realising. If the armed forces just went and carried out an assault, she could simply release all of her animals as a diversion for escape and that would be hell."

David's hand shot to his face again, clasping around his temples. It was too much. And he wasn't exactly sure what Boris was getting at anyway. Why did he have to know all about this? Did he have to have a part in it again? Swallowing fear, he gritted his teeth and asked.

"So what is my part in all this?" he was careful not to mention and therefore involve his wife.

Giving him a thoroughly respectful look, Boris grinned slightly. He allowed a pause before answering, in order to magnify such respect.

"You don't have to take a part in it at all my friend. I just wanted to let you know", he stood suddenly as if to emphasise this. It looked as if he were about to stride out of the door without saying another word.

"However", he grinned again, "If you do you need only to contact me on this number", he handed him a piece of paper, "And from there we'll work something out. But for now, I bid you farewell. I may see you again, I may not."

And with that, he turned and exited, slowly walking down the path through the neatly mown lawn and onto the quiet road. David, turning to Jo, looked her in the eye. She looked back. What was it going to be? The crafty old ex-KGB man had managed to plant the perfect guilt trap in his mind, though he was aware that ignoring this offer was fair enough and nothing to feel guilty over. He wondered whether Boris had meant to make it sound like that, or whether it had simply been the way the man spoke in general. He considered his options.

The world certainly was at risk from beasts such as Sarah, whose youth and beauty led people to believe in a false innocence about her. He did actually feel honoured that Boris was asking for his help in ridding the planet of such a devilish monster. But on the other hand, he knew the dangers he would be getting himself into and he knew that it could cost him his life. It all depended on what type of plan Boris had in mind. He'd been lucky before. He didn't know if he could be so lucky again. Deep inside him, a sense of duty urged. His decision was made in moments. Gazing into Jo's eyes, he spoke softly.

"I'm sorry", he said, "I have to go."

Warmly holding his hands to her heart, she replied.

"We're in this together."

They called Boris, who hadn't got too far, back in so that he could enjoy a nice warm shower and eat a proper meal.

-

A bright white light greeted Jamie's eyes as they painfully opened as mere slits to gaze upon an alien environment. The walls were blank and uninspiring, washed a pale green colour. The bed his stiff body rested upon was lumpy and he would have found it too uncomfortable to stay put had he been able to move. He stopped thinking freely, his mind turning to this fact. He couldn't move. A fear of paralysis suddenly set upon him and cold beads of sweat appeared on his brow.

"Don't worry", a stern voice spoke out from his left, its tone quite emotionless, "You'll be absolutely fine. The drugs we administered will have helped with the pain."

Because he couldn't move his head, Jamie was unable to see the speaker in question. A doctor or some other person in the medical profession, he hoped. But a grim notion flooded his mind as he took in more of his surroundings. It was deathly quiet and not like an NHS hospital at all. He could tell that he was the only person on the ward. Struggling somewhat, he raked his memory to try and remember what had happened. Nothing came though.

"It would be best for you to try and forget everything", the voice continued, as if it could read his mind, "You've been through a seriously traumatic experience and it would be best for you to get some rest."

Jamie continued to try and make sense of everything. He didn't get far. He tried to imagine what the man who was currently stood, or sat maybe, beside him looked like. It sounded as if it came from an older person, and it sounded wise and well suited to that of a doctor. There was also a hint of an Eastern accent, as if he originated from Russia or one of the surrounding nations in that part of the world. But there was something that frightened Jamie. The lack of emotion in the voice disturbed him, as if the man who talked calmly beside him was nothing more than a machine.

"I'll check up on you in an hour", these last words receded with the accompaniment of ominous footsteps that rang out as they struck a hard tiled floor. The sound of a switch, and the room plunged into pitch black. No ambience, no nothing. Jamie hung in this void, suspended in the unknown, unable to sleep, his eyes wide and staring.


	3. The Legacy

Chapter 3

An underground cave complex is understandably a pretty unique environment. And, because the only type of people who tend to own such complexes are usually people who are incredibly wealthy and powerful, and have the know-how regarding how to get away with such things, this ultimately makes them rather pleasant places to live: undisturbed and secure; for renegades such as Sarah, such factors were of great comfort.

As she came to the door of her own private quarters: a large yet relatively small room nestled within the network that had been quite secretly built into the Dorset rock for the past few years, she let a smile materialise on her lips. She always smiled anyway, for the simple reason that it made her feel better inside. Plus, she knew it looked good. It had the influence to inspire fear into an opponent, as well as make her appear confident whatever the situation was; which of course could then unnerve people in turn. Psychological terror was a useful asset in times of conflict and in times where she wished to wreak havoc upon anyone who stood in her way. Of course, she also smiled at times to mock those who opposed her. In the past, she had encountered several. But they had died. Some had been reasonably respectable; others had been pathetic. They no longer walked the earth; she smiled again at that one notion. I won.

After unlocking it, she opened the door slowly. She was all too aware of the being inside. She was also all too aware about his adventurous and cheeky side and how he would quickly dart out of the room for a little explore of the complex if given half the chance to do so. Sliding in through the gap to prevent this from happening, with movements that could shame a snake, she found Graham standing completely still and staring rather quizzically at her. She smiled at him; this one intended to show affection. But Graham was no ordinary pet. Most people might settle for a dog or cat or perhaps, if they wish, go for a more exotic species such as a gecko or tarantula. Or, if they really wanted, something totally obscure, like a tailless-whip scorpion; a pet that shouted "I am different!" Graham wasn't any of these; no, that would have been much too ordinary for someone such as Sarah.

Graham was a legacy from Sarah's uncle Stan's life-work. He had died six months previously and his entire fortune and position at the head of his own private business had been immediately left to his only heir. It was a business unlike no other and offered a rich and comfortable life, so who would she have been to refuse such an opportunity? At times she was thankful that he had met his demise just so she could have been elevated to such success so instantaneously. Of course, that was when she neglected the fact that he had been her only relation. Tears sometimes accompanied her when she went over the few but cherished memories she had of him during her time growing up under his care. Sometimes, anyway; it was more her style to block it out totally. Runaway emotion commandeers a soul all too easily under the correct circumstances. In a way, that is why she'd always been attracted to such species as the Velociraptors, the Tyrannosaurs, and unforgettably, the ravenous Metriacanthosaurs. They didn't feel emotion like the weaker species that is man; they just got on with life and did what they did; succeed!

And Graham's existence just went to show how well Sarah was doing at her new job; her very own prodigy and companion. Being the boss of such an operation came as second nature to her, even after such a devastating loss of resources had afflicted her: an entire ship wrecked; its cargo abandoned to the ocean, including its other lesser known consignment that had been kept secret in the deepest depths of the hull, unknown to anyone else but her, and poor old dead uncle Stan. Still, it was fair to say that she had wondered about that particular cargo every night since the incident, and sometimes shuddered.

Thoughtfully, she strolled through into the kitchen area, and pulled a hunk of beef from the fridge. It was bloody and raw, and Graham happily toddled towards her, his clawed feet skittering upon the linoleum floor. He chirped in respect.

Had he been just a wild creature, he might have mauled Sarah to get at that meat. But, and it went as credit towards Sarah's input into the operation, Graham was a very special animal indeed. And that was ignoring the fact that his species had been dead for over a hundred million years. Graham had been a prototype for a next generation of ultra-enhanced prehistoric creatures. From the limited stocks left over from the disaster, a newer and more advanced species of reptilian predator had been forged; a second generation. It was a notion to be carried out amongst a variety of the species that they had managed to retain. Graham, a Dilophosaur, had been tested upon because his species had existed in the Early Jurassic period, and assumingly, wasn't too far ahead on the evolutionary scale. Sarah particularly found that eye-catching: truly primal creatures. Because Dilophosaurs were therefore seen as a particularly primitive dinosaur, they were thought to be good test subject for this new conditioning, which involved enhancing the brain activity of the animal to an incredible extent. In a word; it was given thought, not just instinct. No longer would they be classed as beasts, but beings. Graham was aware of things. He could think. He was almost human.

Recalling one of the first days that Graham had been with Sarah, she laughed out loud at the amusing memory. She had just arrived home, accompanied by one of the young scientists that had finally persuaded her to have dinner with him. It was then that Graham had made the evening so memorable. Having been playing with one of the toys left for him while she was out during the day, a basketball to be precise, he had been rudely shocked by the sudden advent of this man, who from the Graham's perspective was breaching his territory. In response, he had thrown the ball hard at the man's face, in a fashion that would have made the Harlem Globetrotters proud, and gave the man a bloody nose. That was the last time Sarah had spoken to the scientist; how she laughed. Graham let out a little hiss to show he also felt amused, to match the mood of his owner. He had no voice-box and so couldn't laugh like a human, but she appreciated his show of humour nevertheless. The notion had crossed Sarah's mind on several occasions, but she had never got around to growing a biological voice-box for any of the species under her power.

"But what would you say?" she asked him. He just looked up at her, and squeaked confusedly. Perhaps it was for the best. If you gave such beings a complex method of communication, such as what a human possessed, who knows where it might end up?

She handed him the steak, which he grasped with his hands. Dilophosaurus was a creature that had, interestingly enough, opposable thumbs; another reason why giving a high level of intelligence to one was such an intriguing concept. It was also the other reason for why Sarah had to keep the door locked. With the gift of intellect, there would be nothing to stop him from opening the door and going for a stroll around the facility. She chuckled at another notion: if he had a larynx installed, he'd probably start chatting to people as well. It was a comical mental image.

Holding the tender portion of meat almost as a human might, he put it to his mouth and ate with leisure. Unlike the original variants for the Park, Graham was strictly an "as nature intended" Dilophosaur with "added bits." He bore the distinguishable double crest, which occasionally filled with blood to show a colourful display when he was excited, but he lacked the extravagant frill and poison sacs that had been the result of mutations to the original generation of beasts. He was light brown in coloration, and had a very slim frame. Not very big at the moment for he was but a juvenile, although, after a year or so, he would grow to the height of a full grown man, and boast the length of two. He also had a relatively fragile jaw, a characteristic due to the fact that the species had been mainly scavengers. Of course, it was all relative: a dinosaur with a "fragile jaw" might still rend a man limb from limb without hassle. Unable to chew as such, he did pretty well enough in tearing off lumps and swallowing them. He opened and closed his mouth as best he could, as if to match what he had seen from Sarah's own eating habits. Just like a growing human really. Graham was aware, and would do his best to copy. And, just like a proud parent, Sarah loved to see that he was learning.

She collapsed onto the couch in the lounging area of her apartment. Graham joined her, but not before he had finished his meal. He knew his manners.

Behind her, in the only part of her living space that wasn't designed for leisure, there was displayed upon the wall a big line drawing of a fearsome predator. It was an unusual choice of poster, that's for sure, but it seemed to bear some significance.

She tilted her head to give it a good hard look. Graham did likewise.

"One of your bigger brothers", she said softly.

With vision unlike that of a human, he failed to notice what made the large picture of the Metriacanthosaur, the most highly prized predator in the development research programme, so special. Tremendous strength, built for speed, reasonable intelligence – it was the multi-role fighter of the lot. Even after the terrible fate aboard that ship, when those troublesome hunters had managed to back-fire their own executions, and in due course caused so much precious material to be lost, the Metriacanthosaur was to remain the mainstay symbol of terror for the new breed of zoological warfare.

There had been one lone survivor though. The contents of an egg: one, which funnily enough had gone missing from the labs in the first place, but had been found amongst the burnt-out wreckage of the boats that the hunting party had arrived in. The young beast had been quickly silenced away from its man-made nest to once again become part of the project, and not some probably dead fool's souvenir. There was still much work to be done though. It was still a wild animal and if let loose could cause some serious damage to both her complex as well as the outside world; if it managed to get that far, which it probably could. Letting that thing out of its pen was not on the agenda for now. It still required "work" to be done to it, and so would remain in its holding pen, in a generally sedated state, a mere twenty feet below where Sarah was currently relaxing.

Sarah felt she'd had enough of work for the day though. With one swift wrist movement she flicked on the enormous flat screen TV that was subtly mounted upon the wall. She couldn't get enough of British television. It was a treasure chest of hilarious sitcoms. At the moment, the visuals and tones were unlike anything of the sort; currently on air was the news, informing her about the loss of a fishing boat to a storm. Not that unbelievable, she thought, there had been a few storms lately. Before she condemned it as just another tragedy of individual loss that would have its small-scale effect on some coastal town, and changed the channel, the deeper and more sinister connotations to the story were announced. The reporter made no delay in revealing the somewhat disturbing factors surrounding the fate of the crew, who had all disappeared without trace. Well, that is except for a single mutilated arm, caught in a trawler's net. Fears were publicised and warnings about a great white shark, the only creature that "could have done this", were being declared. It was not unknown for such oceanic predators to enter British waters. Sarah shook her head. No, that couldn't be it. One shark just wasn't big enough to do damage of that scale. Yes, one great white shark could completely obliterate a man with its jaws, but to a boat like that? The vessel had been completely pulverised! Only a creature of Goliath proportions could do that. Grimacing at the spectacle of bloody water, she surveyed the gruesome pictures coming in onscreen. Those men had really copped it out there. A truly horrific way to go out: being stalked by an underwater leviathan, before being devoured and effectively reduced to nothing more than energy. She was aware of gigantic beasts with such capability that had existed in the past; some more recently than others. Did that then mean that they were being haunted by 'it.' She immediately got up. It was time for work after all. Something in the pit of her stomach was telling her that her recent history was about to catch up with her, and she wasn't one to be caught out while 'taking five.'

-

Fifty feet above the young woman, as she went about getting back to work, through layers of thick sound-proof concrete, electrical cables and piping, not to mention a heavily compacted soil, two cyclists were taking a break upon the windswept cliff top and otherwise enjoying the beautiful view that was offered by the Dorset coastline.

"Haha", the ecstatic voice of Jake rang out, "We made it. You see, I told you it would be worth it in the end."

It was true. For days they had viewed the great hill from a distance, knowing that a trip to the top would be quite an achievement, and one possibly not within their reach. Still, a challenge was a challenge, and today, after a little practice on some smaller hills, they had come to tackle the ultimate goal. No breaks until the summit, they had both made each other promise. Pedalling away furiously, with constant alternating of gears, they had climbed and climbed with a power output more reminiscent, to Jake's way of thinking, of a battle tank.

"Ah…oh…yeah", puffed his accomplice, Amelia, as she tried to regain her breath after the arduous uphill journey, "I'm knackered now though. Wow, you can see so far though!"

Amelia's ability to have made it this far, however, was something Jake had been previously unsure of. He was proud of her.

They took a good rest to appreciate and absorb the full benefits of the view. It looked so peaceful and serene; flocks of sea gulls echoed their calls across the bay below, while the ever moving blanket of sea twinkled as if thousands of sunlit gems lay floating just beneath its surface. It was a sight to behold with great wonder, bearing in mind where they were. Britain is not widely known for crystal clear water or scorching sunlight, but today both was offered to its inhabitants in generous quantities. Until another storm came in of course, but all that didn't matter, so long as it didn't come while they were enjoying themselves and their bikes.

"Come on", said Jake, "We've got to get back soon and get ready for Rick's big party."

He emphasised the word "big" with his arms and by letting the word drag as he said it. Amelia giggled in reply. Neither knew just how big the party would actually be, but they felt it was nothing that should be missed.

Before they knew it they were racing downhill; which was always a rewarding experience after an uphill battle such as the one they had just undertaken. Fortunately, the path that they were using was well used and not too rocky or unstable. Even more fortunately, both bikes had more than adequate brake blocks, which helped significantly in Jake's case, when they both rounded a corner to find themselves face to face with a horse and rider.

The graceful creature whinnied in fright and reared up, threatening to upend the surprised young girl who kept her legs wrapped securely to its back. Jake couldn't help but find that impressive, as he skidded to a halt, practically sliding off his saddle at the same time. Amelia zoomed by and did likewise, although she almost ended up in a ditch.

"Sorry about that, we didn't see you", apologised Jake. It was just his luck to have such a near miss. Still no harm done; but he did wish he could be less clumsy.

"Could have happened to anyone", the young country lass replied in friendly tones while getting down from her now relaxed steed, "The name's Tawny. Yours?"

She addressed them both, but Jake couldn't help but feel singled out. It was almost as if Amelia was just part of the scenery. They both answered, quite taken aback by the boldness behind Tawny's demeanour.

"You from around here?" she asked, "Haven't seen you around before. Not that country trails like this are the best places in the world for meeting people. And those I do come across tend to have very little to say."

Jake found that hard to believe; she was quite a stunner to be honest. Fine blond hair that was cropped neatly back behind her head, though at the same time indicated that it could quite easily become wild and exciting with a simple release of the hairpin that held it in place. Her eyes contained a coolness in their blue pools; sharp and searching, but comfortable and attractive. As she got down from her mount, her height was revealed to be taller than Amelia, but only slightly. Jake had always found petite women endearing anyway, so that didn't alter his first impressions of her.

He explained that he and Amelia were down visiting friends, and would be sticking around for the next week or so. When the moment had seemed right, he inserted an invitation to the party. It was accepted, though hesitantly at first. They were still all strangers after all, though Tawny had shown that she was quite happy to hang around the unfamiliar, and departed the conversation feeling quite excited, as her horse trotted onward. No-one could be said to have been more excited, however, than Jake, who raced home with knackered Amelia in tow, just so he would have more time to ready himself.

-

David had never really noticed a floatplane sitting in the quay before. He imagined that this was probably the only time the small marina would be seeing one as well. Apart from the fishing boats and dinghies that were the mainstay of the flotilla, the red deHavilland Beaver aircraft appeared a lot more exotic than it actually was.

Stood on the port float, with his front half deeply fixed inside the cockpit, as if he was performing some standard maintenance check, David could see the pilot already. Beside him Jo walked gracefully but somewhat silently, barely making a noise at all upon the wooden panels of the jetty. Boris was the first to speak up.

"Gordon, my friend", he called, "How are you today?"

The man quickly pulled his head out of his plane to take a look at his customers. He grinned at them; his lips all but hidden behind perhaps a month or two of unshaved facial hair. Donning a baseball cap, khaki shorts, and a loosely fitted shirt, the middle-aged man was quick to jump onto the side and he greeted those that he'd be flying that day with a cheerful manner. David looked at him with only half the appreciation. It seemed that to Boris, there was an air-ace; but to David, all he could see was a sky-pirate.

Not that an airborne mercenary had anything to do with his unease. The band of grey that had formed into existence over the horizon within the last half hour seemed to herald a poor day for flying. He made sure to mention it.

"Aw come on", goaded the pilot, almost as if he was unaware of any danger at all, "A few rain clouds ain't gonna cause much hassle to a good pilot like myself. And anyway, whatever happens, you gotta admit that at least you're gonna get a good view thrown into the bargain."

"If not an amusement park ride at the very least", he added with a chuckle.

"Here, here", put in Jo, with a cheeky smile. She seemed to have unquestionable faith in this stranger. It was really more to do with the fact that Boris, a man she could trust almost as deeply as David himself, was so staunch in his beliefs regarding this man's skill and ability, that she automatically followed suit. However, from David's perspective, this bout of confidence in the unknown, undertaken by his love, piqued his curiosity and was effectively responsible for them taking off that day. At any point he technically did have the power to forbid such a risky flight: as the minutes mounted up, the storm front thickened and grew much more ominous. The first distance rumbles of thunder could be heard echoing out on the horizon; a harbinger to the destruction of the aircraft.

In the end though, David just looked at it in the long-run of things; managing to focus on something positive in the near future: namely; when they had gone and checked out this so called "ghost ship" and been able to return home again to their warm beds. It was almost early evening now, and all he was allowing himself to think about was how great sleeping all day tomorrow would be.

-

The evening had set in now and Sarah was near exhausted. Her assumptions that it was coming back from the dead had both given her excitement and anxiety. A ghost ship, she mused, which refused to die. The massive cargo vessel had been christened the name 'Wraith.' Quite fitting really, now that it sails the seas, crewless, and with an almost wrecked cargo. Almost wrecked; she pondered for a moment.

That ship, which seemed to be coming uncomfortably close to the European continent, no doubt caught up in the Gulf Stream or something, was a potential threat to her operations. How the hell did it get through Panama anyway? Unless it actually did float all the way down to the Southern Ocean and around Cape Horn, up into the Northern Atlantic? Did the oceanic currents even allow for such a spectacular route? All the thinking surrounding those factors made her head spin, so she promptly gave up on it. The truth of the matter was that it was there, and it would no doubt hold somewhere within its belly fragments of evidence that would put them all in jeopardy if discovered by authorities. And the last thing she wanted was the army knocking at her door. She'd come too far to take such a fall from power.

Collecting her thoughts, she contemplated this even more. She had to be sure. Perhaps it was not anything to do with her past. Perhaps it was all just fears that were never going to be realised. She couldn't take such a risk though. Within moments she was contacting a man she'd hoped she'd never have had to speak to again. After this call, relaxation was the only thing on her agenda; she definitely didn't want to stay in tonight. At least she had a good idea of how she could solve that particular problem though.


	4. Alternate Humanity

Chapter 4

An important call was made and Captain Ralph Strayer's satellite phone erupted into life. In a way, he could already sense its significance; though that may have been more because of the fact that he didn't receive all too many calls. Being hundreds of miles off shore, as well as immersed beneath fathoms of ocean, were two factors that accounted for that. Then again, why would anyone have reason to call him? He'd gone AWOL on his former career as a U.S. Marine and deserted his post many years ago, only to find a life at sea aboard various scrap-heaps and under the guise of numerous aliases until the government had finally given up on looking for him. Or so he wished. He was quite certain that there was always someone out there looking for him. On these grounds, he was momentarily apprehensive about picking up.

A chilly voice spoke to him from the other end.

"Hello Strayer", it said, "Do you remember me?"

"Of course", he answered, his heart having leaping quite suddenly in his chest, "How could I forget you, Sarah? Hope you've been well."

"Enough of the pleasantries", she spoke, almost scornfully, "I'm only talking to you because I need a favour. You know, the one you always promised my uncle after he…"

"…after he got me my boat, yes, definitely, what can I do for you?"

He was quite annoyed that this day had come, and yet relieved that he could finally get it out of the way. Thanks to the uncle of this girl, he'd been able to escape a court martial and possible execution back in those grim days where he had had to renounce his citizenship and flee to a life of uncertainties, but a life nonetheless. Stan Pierce, of whom his niece was now representing, had been the sole reason for this being possible.

"How is he by the way?" he added, to be polite.

"Dead. Now listen", she said, and went on to explain the events of the past few years regarding the project. She also added that he was to keep all this knowledge to himself, and that it had only been divulged to him because she had no other choice.

"So, I ask you, and I sincerely hope that the answer is favourable, whereabouts is your location?"

Strayer felt as if he was playing Russian Roulette with this girl; it was a very uncomfortable conversation, and he feared discovering whether or not his answer was going to be received well. She may have been hundreds of miles away, but he remembered Sarah as a brutal killing machine, capable of all almost anything. That night the raid had commenced on some governmental scrap heap in some dingy port town; being told that all he had to do was sit back and watch, as the few guardsmen were stealthily overrun and silently dispatched to another world, without any alarms being raised. It had been an assault firmly spearheaded by Sarah. Seemed she had once had an interest in a military career, but had pulled out due to an extreme dislike of being told what to do. Her grasp of militaristic concepts weren't so easily discarded though. Not one drop of blood was spilled that night; only bloodshed.

He'd always felt bad about the killing of those innocent men; the way they had been falsely made out to have perished due to their own clumsiness. Apparently, there were a lot of ways to end life in an environment such as a naval scrap yard, and all it had taken was one set-up of a group disaster involving a crane and cargo container, and the pages of history had been written falsely into the records. As for the sub's absence? Well, perhaps nothing could be done about that. He'd just have to keep on running until the U.S. didn't want it back anymore. To be fair, it was years ago, and he would keep telling himself that. I'm sure the United States has much more on their agenda than a missing submarine. Especially seeing as it was one that was as good as scrap anyway.

Slowly, he gave his reply to Sarah's central question.

"Currently", he said, "We are positioned in the North Atlantic."

"Oh", said the voice, sounding a little happier now, having heard the response. Strayer silently exhaled a sigh of relief at this. He couldn't go far wrong now, he thought.

"But your exact location?"

He told her the exact location, down to the finest detail, wincing all the time. If someone upstairs was listening in on this conversation…he didn't want to dwell on the possibility of some nearby destroyer or other naval vessel becoming a voyeur to their chat. Not that he thought anyone would be able to immediately locate it with a snap of their fingers and the mental image of a light bulb momentarily popping into existence above their heads. He could hear her pondering for a moment.

"Captain Strayer, I want you to locate and secure this ghost ship of mine. You still have that radar installed…the one my uncle gave you?"

He replied with a positive. Operating a sub in waters patrolled by the navies of the world was dicey work So much so that it required a very powerful and illegal experimental device, which he'd been blessed in possessing, to help him steer clear of such hazards. The range on it was phenomenal, though he had no idea how Stan had ever managed to get hold of it. He'd never wanted to risk asking. Better it left a mystery, he'd always thought.

"Good. Then you should have an advantage when you go searching for it."

They were both aware that locating a ship, even a large one, in such a vast expanse of water was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Still, he was given what was hopefully a pretty good estimate of whereabouts the ship could be. She seemed to think that they wouldn't be far off, but was unsure whether this was a well-educated guess, or just simple optimism. Yes, the North East Atlantic, specifically the areas off the Bay of Biscay, the opening to the English Channel, and anywhere else in that general region, was to be the location of the biggest hunt of Strayer's life.

"Thank-you, Captain Strayer", cooed Sarah down the line, so that it was almost turned into a burst of ghastly static, "And remember; you do this for me, and you can consider your debt paid off. You shall truly be a free man then!"

"Thank-you, Miss Remington", he answered gratefully. Not bloody likely, he thought.

That conversation had happened about an hour or two ago, and already Strayer had engaged himself and his crew on the hunt for the aptly named 'Wraith.' Though he hoped it not too aptly named: perhaps it was just elusive like a ghostly spirit, but he couldn't help but feel anxious whether or not it was also going to be the end of him and his crew, like a wraith's victim. The pit of his stomach was suggesting that latter concern. Soon, I shall at least be free of that debt, if nothing else, he kept telling himself.

-

An insignificant dot lost upon an immense dark grey canvas was the little float plane, as it crawled its way across the sky, searching out what was effectively an unknown destination. It was ridiculous! They didn't even know where they were meant to be going! At least David didn't. Boris seemed to have some idea; poised over charts and acting out the role of navigator for this flight; silently fulfilling the vital job that would make sure the Beaver aircraft kept en-route.

Hours had passed since the remaining traces of British coastline had vanished behind them. The sinister fog of storm had seemed to sweep over them, engulfing the intrepid little plane, providing it with mere darkness in which to find the way.

There was plenty of turbulence out there, it seemed, rocking the relatively fragile vehicle about as if it were a mere plastic bag caught in an updraft. To David, he imagined that this was what the non-existent crew of a toy or Airfix kit might feel like, when a small child clutched it in their hand, whilst running around the house screaming with joy and waving it to and fro and side to side. Gazing out of the window, all was grim. Nothing was out there, it seemed. Only commonsense told him that far below was most likely an unmerciful sea. Countless drops of rain etched their way across the canopy glass. An occasional flash of lightning might illuminate the way ahead for a split second; but all he could see were more and more clouds ahead of them. It was as if they were entrapped within the centre of chaos.

Gordon had been friendly enough in his reassurances though; indeed, having turned out to be a lot more different to the sky-pirate David had originally judged him to be. Kept saying all sorts of things that he deemed helpful to his troubled passenger: about the aircraft itself and how it had been the "rugged workhorse" for many bush-pilots the past fifty years or so, to stories about his own experiences. Born an Englishmen, Gordon had spent much of his youth in Canada and had always loved the natural beauty of the land, to the point where he had decided to make it his home. The weather over there could be just as unpredictable as the weather off the British coast, so this storm was of little concern to him. He'd flown through similar in the past. He knew how to hold his plane together.

Still, the only thing at the front of David's mind was the fact that they were presently miles from home and that he didn't even know where they were. Abruptly, the tumultuous air currents seemed to lay off them; and the thin sliver of a crescent moon beamed light in through the canopy. Stars were beginning to emerge onto the heavens high above. At least they'd managed to lift out of the storm clouds. For now, at least, they could ride the rest of the way in relative comfort; riding the very crest of the flurry to their target.

-

Country lanes. There were many of these to walk along on the way to that big white house where Ian resided; located quite out of the way of any transportation links like bus stops, making it a rather long and tiring and necessary journey by foot. What was more on Jake's mind, however, was the fact that they were an hour or so late. Not that this would matter at a casual do such as this party, but he dearly hoped that Tawny hadn't shown up too early. Would she already be there? What would she be wearing? He quickened his pace.

Amelia, however, wasn't quite so fond of this method of travel, and had inferred already that Jake should really learn to drive at some point. He'd tried explaining to her that that would have meant he'd be unable to drink, but she seemed to miss the point entirely. Much the same as where he missed the point about the difficulty in walking long distances in high heels, which had been the hot conversation topic on this pre-party walk.

Above, the sky had begun to darken not only because of evening's arrival, but also because of an ominous cloud band; the prelude before a storm. It was a good thing that Ian was allowing them to stay over, though he really had to remember to ask whether Tawny could do the same. Knowing Ian very well, he didn't hesitate in imposing; after all, he couldn't let a girl walk home in the pouring rain when warm shelter was available. The "big white house", as people knew it, was huge!

As they eventually reached the path up to the place, they were met by numerous cheerful and ever-so slightly drunk people; some they knew, and others they didn't. Ian himself briefly came to welcome their arrival, though Jake reckoned he only did this because he was around at the time. Usually, they might go hours into a party before properly meeting. And to be honest, he looked a little preoccupied, with a pair of beautiful blond twins following him about the place, each trying to outdo the other in earning his attention and affections. A popular chap was Ian.

Tawny was there already. She seemed to materialise amongst the crowds, wearing a beautiful flowing dress of fine white silk that gave her an almost ethereal quality. Like an angel, thought Jake.

"I like your dress" Amelia blurted out before either Jake or Tawny could say anything. Probably for the best, thought Jake. He was quite certain he'd have only made a positive but cheesy comment about the appearance of this new character in his life.

They all got underway with drinks and everything else that was included in getting underway with partying. They were mere additions to a congregation of slightly sober, tipsy, and downright drunk individuals, united for that one purpose alone: to have fun. Jake noted that nobody seemed to be totally wrecked yet, but in time he assumed there would be a few ending up this way. There always were. Of course, he could have had no idea that they would eventually be finding one particular "wreck" at the bottom of the garden; one that was so in a rather literal sense.

After the first ten minutes or so, Amelia slid off and dissipated into the crowds, leaving Jake to entertain their guest alone. It was a move he appreciated. Much as he liked Amelia's company, she had evidently sensed that Jake and Tawny were much preferable to a one-to-one conversation. Plus people were shouting after her to come and socialise, so she decided to answer their calls. Jake was also receiving the same cries, but he couldn't hear them, or pretended not to at least. Instead, he sat there with this girl he had met mere hours beforehand, speaking with her as if they were the only two people there, in their very own private garden.

She told him quite a bit about herself: a country girl through and through, having spent her childhood growing up on a farm, before moving to a suburb. She was well educated. She tended to stay away from cities, much preferring the countryside for various reasons; particularly the minimal light pollution, which allowed you to "fully appreciate the night sky." Apparently she'd never been to London though, or overseas.

Jake seemed to detect a certain flair in her though; she seemed to be the adventurous sort, as well as the type who would never let anything get in the way of travel. Hearing him mention this, she replied that there had been times in the past where she had almost been able to, but serious obstacles had gotten in the way. Turned out that her father was away most of the time, and she had to fend for herself, as well as maintain a household by herself. Owning a horse, and several chickens, this wasn't a walkover, and demanded her to be around most of the time. If she one day got that window of opportunity though; a reprieve from her responsibilities.

"Who knows?" she said.

Jake gave a silent reply; a knowing nod.

"So…are you and Amelia an item then?" she suddenly asked. It was a question that surprised Jake, yet, at the same time, he'd been half expecting it. After all, he got that a lot; he did indeed spend a lot of time with Amelia; so much so that the impression that they were a couple was almost certainly going to befall some, if not the majority of bystanders.

"Oh no, not at all, we're just friends", he replied with the standard response for this question. And now he was sincerely hoping that Tawny asking wouldn't have any negative connotations. Not that there was any reason it should do, but the way his mind thought managed to find some concern in this. It seemed to mean either of two things: one, that Tawny was herself interested in Jake, and was wanting to find out whether he was available or not; or two, she was just curious to know, and any consideration of the first possibility was best to be ignored for the purpose of avoiding embarrassment. Usually the follow up might provide some clue, but Tawny just smiled and kept silent, before commenting shortly after the pause about how close he and Amelia seemed.

And so, he revealed to her the well-told story that he'd already explained to everyone else who had shown an interest enough to enquire after this apparent impression that his love was an endearing petite and beautiful brunette called Amelia. It was true; he had held a torch for her in the past…at one time, having the most intense crush, but it had never worked out quite the way it did in the movies. He'd become too much of a friend, and to be honest, that is all he really wanted from her. Yes, she was pretty, but he supposed that most of his crush had merely been a trick of the mind. As he considered this, he realised that it was a train of thought that had no stops to visit, and so could go on forever, so he quickly cut to another topic. Before he could though, Tawny added to her query.

"It's just that you and she seem so happy together. You obviously think a lot about and care deeply for each other."

That was true. It was also a comment to send the train accelerating down the tracks again. Of course he loved her, but strictly as a friend and that is the way he wanted it to stay. Yes, there had been times during his crush where he was drawn totally by her beauty and his lust demanded he bed her immediately somehow, but, after years of friendship had passed, and he had got to know her for who she was, and come to appreciate her more for who she was by soul, and not her body, anything more than friendship seemed to become a strange prospect. It would just be weird to date her by this stage, he'd tell himself. Then again, there was always the other perspective, which occasionally tried to contradict him; sometimes the question came to mind: do I only say that because I know that is how Amelia thinks? And therefore, know it is a dead-loss to pursue what I can never have? Time to stop thinking…

"We do, but we're strictly just friends", he said, having slammed the brakes on his thought train once more. He gave a warm smile to emphasise the comment. It was returned with one that practically mirrored his. It lifted his spirits high. A good sign maybe. He hoped so. They continued to talk, now trailing onto other topics of a general matter. The sea of people dotted about the lawn seemed to burble the ambience of the party as if were taking place miles away from them, as they sat and chatted about pretty much everything: the stuff anyone will usually speak about when they meet someone for the first time. Absorbed within each other's company, and too busy enjoying the infusion of beer and other alcoholic beverages into the blood stream, they never even noted the sudden departure of a complete stranger; someone who had been known by no-one.

-

The puddles from the newly fallen rain were splashed violently as she strode through them, one by one. She didn't know what she had been playing at. Why the hell did I do that? She almost screamed the question out loud to the darkness. Ever so slight traces of fear descended upon her mind, though not because of where she was, rather, the situation she was in. It would have been quite understandable after all; a young girl walking home through dark country lanes, unfrequented by many. Such darkness had a habit of playing tricks on the mind; rousing a primal fear, unforgotten after millions of years of evolution. But, it there was anything out there that might even think about springing an ambush she was pretty sure she would rend its head from its neck without a hitch; such was her current state of mind.

Sarah was no stranger to gore and violence; but she had always been in control of dishing it out. Back there, she didn't know what had happened. It had come over her so fast. And at such an inconvenient time! Before she knew it, she had been attacking and mutilating a complete stranger, who she'd only been trying to enjoy carnal pleasures with. Why him? Why would she ever have wanted to attack him? Such a mystery severely worried her. She'd always respected instinct in all animals; relying on it herself, whenever she had had to kill. But if this little action of hers had been because of instinct, even a random and uncontrolled burst of primal aggression, she knew for a fact that it wasn't human. Or natural, for that matter. She'd need to get back to the lab, run a blood test and study the samples until she knew for sure what was going on. What scared her most though: was the fact that she almost had some idea why she might have acted this way. It seemed that her legs weren't working fast enough to get her back to that lab and an answer to her situation.

Before she knew it, she was finally back at the patch of private land, where the secret entrance to her facility lay hidden amongst the tangled roots of some ancient tree. Like something out of those obscene fairy tales, she had always thought to herself when using it; though for this time her mind was much more concerned with her present condition.

It was a wise choice of location; no one ever came here, nor thought to. Private property owned by some doddery old individual who was too old to make any sort of patrol of his territory, like they might have possibly done back in their youth. It was an exceptionally thick copse as well; frightfully overgrown to the point where all she had to do was wait until no-one else was around and then quite literally vanish into this natural portal. And there was never anyone else around here, making it an easy enough task to accomplish.

Dropping through the hole, she landed on her two feet into the abandoned entry/exit corridor: a long barren walkway that led down into the main complex. She didn't walk. She ran.

-

Silently the small group approached the small enclosure at the foot of the garden, an enclosure hidden by neatly pruned hedgerows, and centred with a marble fountain. No-one ever really came down here during a party. Unless it was for…the only reason they were all there now was because of that strange noise, which had prompted an investigation. Such a horrible sound…but even that couldn't have prepared them for the sight that they saw. It sickened them all. Amelia couldn't look; Tawny could only look on with what can only be described as a thoroughly shocked expression; both Ian and Jake, along with a few other guys who had been curious enough to follow, looked on without knowing what to think. Or say. Or do.

Writhing in an indescribable amount of pain, both hands bloodstained and clutching his groin, one of the party guests lay on the grass, shuddering and breathing gratingly. Splashed upon the marble, which was the only thing propping his head up; enough of his blood had been lost to have turned the water crimson. What appeared to be bite marks and scratches adorned his face, and more noticeably, his crotch. If there was one thing that had ever caused a bunch of people to simultaneously cringe at once, it was this.

"Oh God", remarked one of the group.

"I think the party's over", replied Ian.


End file.
